


quiver

by momo314



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Drunken Flirting, Incest, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momo314/pseuds/momo314
Summary: Genichiro gets a rude awakening when Isshin comes home from a night of drinking (in more ways than one).





	quiver

**Author's Note:**

> More IsshiGen from yours truly! I can't stay away. Genichiro's an adult but still fairly young here, maybe like 20 or so.

"Weren't in the mood to wait up for me?" The voice is rough against his ear and a calloused hand sinks into the opening of his yukata. Genichiro's eyes fly open instantly at the touch, startled awake by the intruder. He bucks and twists, shoving away the form looming over his futon as he tries to gain his bearings after being so swiftly pulled from sleep. Expecting further attack, Genichiro prepares to leap to his feet, but falters when his mind places the owner of that voice.

"Hahaha! Feisty, are you?" His grandfather, Lord Isshin uses that moment of hesitation how he does in any battle—striking forth in an effective counter. Grabbing Genichiro's wrists, he pins him down onto his stomach in what feels like an instant. It knocks the breath out of him, making his head spin with uncertainty and the meek beginnings of something he refuses to call fear. Genichiro can smell the alcohol on his grandfather's breath, remembers how he'd said not to expect him back until morning. "That's perfect," Isshin says, low and dangerous, the growl of a jungle cat. "I enjoy a good struggle."

Genichiro's heart races in his chest, so that hard it hurts and his body goes still, unsure whether this is a case of drunken folly or something worse. Though Isshin would never exert excessive force in pursuit of a lover for the night, years of their occasional sparring makes Genichiro explicitly aware of how much strength there is underneath that scarred skin.

For a long moment, Genichiro forgets to breathe. An archer should never hold their breath, he knows, had been told by Grandfather only once. He inhales slowly through his nose. It's sensory overload with Isshin's chest plastered to his back, a warm leg wedged between his, and what he dares not think to be Isshin's arousal taking shape against his rear.

Genichiro had seen his grandfather coaxing women before with that bold charm not unlike a force of nature—one girl Genichiro had taken for himself later that same night, following the faint marks left by Isshin's fingertips like an instructional guide—but it's completely different being on the receiving end of that intensity. Isshin seems pleased with his apparent surrender and presses his teeth to the back of his neck, like an animal preparing to mate.

An indescribable spark ignites along Genichiro's spine, twisting his stomach in a knot until he finally manages to find his voice. "Grandfather!" He hates the way it sounds, a shaken yelp, his apprehension blindingly obvious. Though unpleasant in its revealing nature, the word brings Isshin's movements to a halt. The weight on Genichiro's body disappears as Isshin draws back, squinting in the darkness. Genichiro turns onto his side to show his face, praying that the nervous tremor he feels in his chest is only internal, or at least unnoticeable in the dim moonlight.

"Genichiro?" Isshin asks, momentarily confused. "What are you doing in my room?"

Genichiro holds back a sigh of relief at Isshin's reaction. Recently, they had changed the layout of the building. Isshin wanted to have a more sweeping view of Ashina and thusly moved into a different room with a newly constructed balcony. The decision was a clear one when Genichiro was given the choice between likewise moving to a new space or taking Lord Isshin's old room as his own. There had been no deeper meaning to Isshin trying to slip into his grandson's bed; he was simply mistaken after coming home from a wild night. "Our rooms were changed, remember, Grandfather?" Genichiro's voice is level now, sounding like it should. "Yours is upstairs."

Isshin blinks once. "Ahh, yes..." Without a trace of embarrassment, he chuckles and says, "I didn't recall calling anyone to my bed tonight, but a man doesn't ask questions, you see?" Genichiro's heart settles into its usual rhythm, the disconcerting situation lightening with Isshin's familiar laugh. It doesn't last for long, however, not when Grandfather threads his fingers through Genichiro's hair, pushing the bulk over his shoulder. "Still..." Isshin hums, like he's considering something thoughtfully. "I didn't realize you had such an appealing nape until now..."

The skin Isshin had teased at with his teeth is still sensitive. Despite knowing that he doesn't bruise easily, Genichiro finds himself wondering if it would leave a mark. He swallows, gathers himself, inhales through his nose. "You're quite drunk, Grandfather," he says calmly, convinced that he's not the least bothered by Isshin running his thumb along the ridge of his spine. "Will you be able to make it to your room on your own?"

Isshin snorts, removing his hand. "Don't patronize me, boy. I made it this far, didn't I?"

Genichiro doesn't say anything more as Isshin leaves to find his own bedroom. He brushes his hair back into place, straightens his yukata and decides to push the encounter to the far corners of his mind so that he can get some rest. His neck feels strangely cold and overexposed, now that he knows what Isshin's breath, his touch feels like against it, hot and tingling. Genichiro rolls onto his back, smothering the lingering sensation with his pillow.

That night isn't the first night he dreams of his grandfather—not even in a sexual context. But it's the first morning that he wakes to sticky sheets and vivid images of Isshin pressed to his body instead of someone else's. Images that don't fade no matter how much Genichiro tries to steer them away, stirring something warm and dark in the pit of his gut.

The next time Lord Isshin goes out drinking until the early hours of the morning, there's someone waiting in his bed. Rather than suddenly crawling into the futon beside him or pinning the interloper down, Isshin casts a long look at his face and asks curiously, "Now, Genichiro, what are you doing here?"

It's a question that he doesn't quite know how to answer, so he doesn't try. Instead, Genichiro sits on his knees and bows his head. "I apologize, Grandfather. I must have been confused." Positioned like this, Isshin can see that Genichiro's hair is tied high and his collar draped low, exposing the curves of his neck.

The low, throaty laugh Isshin gives in return makes Genichiro's skin flush beneath the thin fabric of his yukata. It takes everything not to lean in to the touch or gasp when Isshin cups the back of his neck and pulls him closer. "I bet."


End file.
